


we are not shining stars

by paradis



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Baseball, M/M, i think this was me trying to do a character study
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-22
Updated: 2012-10-22
Packaged: 2017-11-16 19:31:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/543053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paradis/pseuds/paradis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He finds the note in his gym bag when he finally unpacks it somewhere in Nevada as Laura throws stuff into a washer in a dingy Laundromat. <i> I told you I’d teach you</i>, Kate wrote, and it has a perfect heart underneath it. Derek throws up and then rips the note into a thousand tiny pieces.</p>
            </blockquote>





	we are not shining stars

**Author's Note:**

> This is literally saved in my writing folder as **baseball derek feels** because that's pretty much the summary for it.
> 
> warnings for underage between Kate Argent and Derek Hale, and some angst, I have to admit.
> 
> Unbetaed because this was written in thirty minutes and I don't feel like it was worth it. 
> 
> Also, I'm a newish baseball fan so I could've gotten some of the lingo or technique or _something_ wrong, so don't hate me. 
> 
> And the title is not my best, but it's taken from Fun.'s 'Carry On'

Before he loses his family, before Kate, Derek is the star pitcher of the Beacon Hills baseball team. Contrary to popular belief, being a wolf doesn't just automatically make you a pro at sports. Laura couldn't play softball, basketball, or do ballet worth shit. She sucked at cheerleading and hated running for track because she had to pace herself too much to look like a normal human.

But Derek - Derek is good. There's something about knowing how to pitch curve balls and fastballs and being so accurate. He's good behind the bat, too, but he's a better pitcher, and everyone knows it. There are scouts already seeking him out, at just sixteen years old, and Derek charms them with a smile and a neat fastball, while they look on, unable to help the smirk twitching at their lips or their looks of awe.

"Just two more years," the scout for a school out in Pennsylvania says, clapping him on the back and handing him a card. "We'll keep in contact."

"Don't listen to him," another says. "Their baseball team is so bad. They think because they're a Big Ten school they're more important."

Derek never even knew if he wanted to go to college but what he did know was that he wanted to play ball. And if college was the way to do it, then he'd go.

Before even the middle of his sophomore year he's decided what school he wants to go to and what he wants to major in. Physical education and then go for his master's in Physical Therapy, he tells his parents, and they look skeptical, like they don't think Derek will stick to his plan. But Derek thinks they should know him by now. He never changes his mind.

Until he does.

The source of changing his mind is Kate Argent, who watches him practice behind the fence at the baseball field, listens to everyone cheer for him at the game for two weeks in a row before she comes up to him. "I was beginning to think you were a sneaky scout," Derek tips his ball cap down at her in a gesture to mean hello. Kate Argent laughs a laugh that will soon enough haunt his dreams, and shakes her head.

She says, "Oh, honey." 

She says, "I'm scouting for something, alright."

And she already has Derek hooked. The honey smooth tone, the bright lights in her eyes, the way she laughs and shoves her hands in her pockets and looks at him so expectantly. Her long golden blonde locks and blue eyes and link lip gloss, her take-no-shit attitude and the way there's something promising in her tone - Derek falls hard, and falls immediately.

It's a known fact that Derek Hale doesn't date.

It stays a known fact that he doesn't, even though he is dating, because Kate Argent is Older, and Wiser, and can Teach Him Things (she promises).

She teaches him how to fuck after two weeks. She sits on top of him and kisses him breathless before she peels out of her bra and panties and rides him, Derek looking up at her in awe. Derek doesn't last because he's sixteen and fucking someone for the first time and can't get over the _heattightwetheat_ and the way Kate laughs when he comes after five minutes and then teaches him how to go down on her.

She teaches him what it feels like to have his heart ripped out of his chest in more ways than one three months after that, when he comes home from baseball practice on a dreary May afternoon to find the Sheriff's car parked at the driveway, fire trucks in the lawn, and his family dead.

He finds the note in his gym bag when he finally unpacks it somewhere in Nevada as Laura throws stuff into a washer in a dingy Laundromat. _I told you I’d teach you_ , Kate wrote, and it has a perfect heart underneath it. Derek throws up and then rips the note into a thousand tiny pieces.

He doesn't go back to school and he never picks up a baseball or glove after that. Scouts call and call and call the school, bugging them about Derek, but they tell them all the same thing. He's gone. Disappeared. Flew into the wind for all they know.

When Derek and Laura roll back into Beacon Hills there's a billboard at the entrance to town reading all of Beacon Hills High Baseball Team Championships. The last time they won was the year Derek switched to the varsity team and broke records. His name is printed right under the year with his record breaking stats. Derek swallows back the acid-burn taste in his mouth and Laura looks at him with concern until he snaps at her to keep her eyes on the road.

When Laura dies Derek throws up for the first time since Kate Argent burnt his family. When Kate corners him in the burnt out remains of the Hale house that same acid taste is there, and when he finally gets away, he throws up half a mile through the woods. When it turns out Uncle Peter is the alpha the acid-burn is thick in the back of his throat, there until Scott, Stiles, Jackson and the Argents leave him, standing there with blood dripping from his claws.

This town makes him sick, but it's Derek's fault, he knows.

It doesn't stop. Through the Kanima and making a new pack. When Derek seduces Erica he feels so much like Kate that after he bites her there in the hospital, he sneaks into the bathroom and throws up and then looks at himself long and hard in the mirror. He tells himself it's not his fault; it's all he knows. Seduction and lies and deception, Kate taught him all of those things and though Derek tries his hardest to forget them, he always carries it with him.

He shouldn't be surprised when Stiles is the first person to put things together. He shows up at the subway station and looks down at the floor, hands shoved into his pockets. His heart is still the same hummingbird fluttery pace but he isn't talking as much.

"Baseball State Champs," Stiles says quietly.

"What," Derek says flatly.

"There's this - billboard at the edge of town," Stiles gestures in the general direction of town. "I don't really, you know. Leave town. But the closest mall is in Beacon Heights, and I had to go get my tux. Senior prom, you know." Stiles clears his throat and looks at him awkwardly.

"So," Derek says. "So what?"

"So," Stiles says slowly. "What she did wasn't right, Derek."

Derek feels a flash of knife-edged pain soar through him and he says dryly, "What are you talking about?"

Stiles just eyes him. There's tense silence for a few moments and he says finally, "I'm really good at putting things together, Derek. I'm the one who figured it out, about Kate burning down the house."

Derek flinches, just a little, but Stiles continues. "And at first I thought it was just that. It was just that Kate burned your house and your family down." Derek stares straight ahead, behind Stiles, at the dirty wall. "But then I saw that billboard and I started thinking. I started thinking about how you were sixteen, Derek. Sixteen and impressionable. Most sixteen year olds - they're easy to convince. And," Stiles pauses. "Kate was attractive. She was manipulative. She was seductive and smart and conniving."

Derek says, "Don't."

"You were the star pitcher," Stiles keeps talking. "You were the star and you were attractive and you wanted things in life and Kate thought that as a werewolf you didn't deserve those things. Which isn't _true_."

Derek doesn't say anything. He keeps staring at the wall an tries to breathe normally. There's silence, five minutes of silence, and Stiles doesn't even shift around like usual. He says quietly, "She said she could teach me things," and coughs. "I was sixteen. I wanted to be taught things."

"Derek -"

"Shut up," Derek says, but he's shaking and he can't decide if he's angry or afraid or upset. He knows he should shut up but there’s finally someone _else_ in the room who is carrying his secret and he shouldn’t be relieved – shouldn’t feel so _glad_ that there is another person who can carry the burden of this secret. And he knows Stiles will carry it, because it’s too important to go running around telling people. Stiles isn’t that type of person – Derek doesn’t even have to threaten him to know that. 

“I’m sorry,” Stiles finally whispers. 

Derek shudders, and before he realizes it, Stiles is moving forward, pulling his hands out of his pockets and wrapping them around Derek’s neck and pulling him close, hugging him tight. Derek gasps against Stiles’ neck, and Stiles murmurs little nothings that Derek can’t translate in his ear, petting his back. “No one else knows,” Derek says into Stiles’ neck. “No one else knows.”

“You can tell me anything,” Stiles pulls back from hugging Derek and looks him in the eyes and repeats, “You can tell me anything, everything, Derek, I’ll listen, okay?” 

Derek doesn’t tell him everything that night, but he tells him little things. He tells him about Laura’s laugh and the way his little sister Marcie loved to convince Derek to let her paint his toenails even though he had gym the next day and had to change in front of a locker room full of guys with his toenails painted sparkly purple. It takes Derek a while, a few weeks of Stiles coming around, but he tells him about his parents; how his mother made the best lasagna he’s ever had, how his dad was great at making chocolate chip cookies from scratch. 

He doesn’t talk about Kate or after the fire, and Stiles doesn’t ask him to. 

 

In between all the talking, Stiles is talking, too. He convinces Derek to train his pack again (because Derek screwed up and it was his own fault so he sent them all away) because he tells Derek they miss him and need him, even Boyd and Erica, who feel terrible for leaving. He tells Derek Scott really _does_ want to be part of the pack because he’s realized how much belonging to a pack means and he’s moved on from pining over Allison because he also realized how dangerous it is. He arranges for something he calls Pack Movie Night at Stiles’ house, and Stiles cooks and cleans and bitches about it but the whole time there’s a fond smile on his face that says he’s really secretly enjoying it. And when the rest of the pack leaves, Derek stays behind and helps him with the dishes until they get into a water fight and Stiles is drenched and laughing and Derek’s hair is dripping with soapy water and there’s a small smile on his face. 

“That was good,” Stiles says through his wheezing laughter. “You’re good, Derek.” He reaches out and pats Derek on the shoulder.

The thing with Stiles is that he isn’t shy with his affections at all. He’s never afraid to pat Derek’s shoulder, or hug him, or elbow him in the side. He’s constantly teasing and poking and smiling and laughing. It takes Derek back to different days, better days, where his own family wasn’t shy with their affections, and even Derek wasn’t afraid to come running through the door after school and give his mother a hug. 

Stiles pushes and pushes until he’s under Derek’s skin, but Derek doesn’t mind. It’s a strange feeling, not being on guard around someone, but he can do it with Stiles, and it’s strange, but pleasing, too. 

“She left a note,” Derek blurts out suddenly.

Stiles stops smiling. “She left a note,” he repeats. Then his eyes widen. “Oh – _she_ left a note.”

“I was at – I was at post season baseball practice,” Derek whispers. “I came home, except there was no home.” 

“Derek,” Stiles says, but when Derek looks up there isn’t a look of pity on Stiles’ face. There’s a look of _hurt_ and Derek thinks that Stiles is hurting for him, with him. Stiles moves forward and wraps his arms around Derek, and Derek buries his face in the spot where Stiles’ neck meets his shoulder, inhales. “I’m so sorry,” Stiles whispers. “I’m sorry she got to you.” 

Derek shudders against him and doesn’t say anything when the salty warm tears leak out and soak the skin of Stiles’ neck. 

 

When Derek shows up to the field Stiles has found for him to train the pack in, there’s a baseball game going on with his pack members. Stiles shows up right behind him and Derek hears the sharp inhale. “Stiles!” Scott calls, waving after him. “Come play! We all know you’re the best pitcher.” 

Derek does a half turn to look at Stiles. He hears Stiles swallow dryly. “Um,” Stiles says.

“You play?” Derek rumbles, stepping closer. “You play?” 

“I – yes,” Stiles finally says. “Since little league. Turns out there’s something I’m not _too_ terrible at.” 

“Stiles is predicted to take them to States this year,” Scott says, when he jogs up. Stiles swallows again, and Derek watches him carefully. Stiles blinks, long lashes brushing against his cheeks, and Derek stares at him for another moment before he turns to Scott. 

“Really,” he says flatly. “Well. I’d like to see what he’s got.” He reaches out, clutches the sleeve of Stiles’ shirt, and drags him forward, shoving him into Scott. Stiles squeaks. “Go,” he instructs.

“I’m really not – I don’t think –” But Scott is already dragging him towards the game. 

“Let’s see how you hold up with a bunch of werewolves,” Scott is telling him as he shoves a glove into Stiles’ hand. 

“He’s really good,” Lydia says, sitting down next to Derek. Derek jumps. “You’ll like watching him,” she continues, and her lips curl up into what Derek thinks is a knowing smile. It’s also somewhat perverted. 

“What,” Derek says flatly, staring at Stiles warming up on the makeshift pitcher’s mound. Lydia snorts. 

“Don’t play dumb, Hale. It doesn’t suit your disgustingly pretty face.” Lydia is studying her nails as she says it, but Derek can see the pleased look on her face. “You _want_ to see Stiles play. You want to see what he looks like, finally in his element. And I’ll tell you something. He looks _good_.” 

Derek blinks, but doesn’t deny it, because that would be lying. Instead he watches Stiles closely. The truth is, Stiles is awesome. He has amazing potential, something that surprises Derek. He wonders how he never learned, in the two years they’ve known each other now, that Stiles is a part of the Beacon Hills High baseball team, how Stiles has kept this from him for so long. But it turns out that Derek isn’t angry; he’s pleasantly surprised by this new discovery. Something inside him wants to do warm up drills with Stiles. Wants to be behind the bat while Stiles pitches, wants to learn how great his fastballs are, how scary his curve balls are. 

Beside him, Lydia clears her throat. “He won’t wait forever,” she says, and a brief look of sadness flashes across her face before she fixes him with her patented Lydia Glare again. 

“Yeah,” Derek says slowly. “Yeah. I know.” 

 

Four days later Derek shows up at Stiles’ house with a gym bag and a baseball bat. “Please tell me you’re not going to use that on me,” Stiles blurts out, eyeing the bat. 

Derek rolls his eyes. 

“Come on,” he says. Stiles is already in gym shorts and a ratty tee – his around the house clothes, Derek guesses. “Put your sneakers on.” 

“Excuse me,” Stiles asks flatly. Derek shrugs. 

“I want to play.” 

Stiles’ eyes widen again. “Play… baseball?”

Derek rolls his eyes, but he nods this time, too. Stiles does a fast turn towards the stairwell and throws a glance over his shoulder at Derek as he trips his way up the steps. “Stay there! Don’t move! I will be – I will be right back, okay? Don’t move!” He shouts again, and disappears upstairs. 

He’s back down in thirty seconds, hopping on one foot to slip his second sneaker on as he makes his way towards the door. He pauses, staring at his keys. “Your car or mine?” 

“Yours, but I’m driving,” Derek says, and snatches the keys out of Stiles’ hands. 

“I’m not that bad,” he mumbles, but doesn’t protest other than that. 

When they get to the field the pack was playing in before, Stiles stands there nervously, shifting. “I kind of forgot my – ” Derek throws a glove that he knows will fit Stiles perfectly because he spent a lot of time at the Sporting Goods store choosing it at Stiles’ head. “Thanks,” Stiles whispers, staring down at it. 

“Come on,” Derek says, swinging the bat a couple times to warm up. “Let’s get started.” 

“Are you –” Stiles starts.

“Shut up, Stiles. Warm up.” 

So Stiles does. When he’s finished, he cracks his neck once and stares at Derek for a moment before he gets into stance and throws a fast one towards Derek. 

Derek misses, once, twice, but hits it on the third try, clear across the field, landing right near the start of the tree line. “Holy shit,” Stiles whispers. “No warming up for you.” 

Derek smirks. “Home run, right?” he asks, and Stiles snaps his gaze to Derek. 

“Y-yeah,” he says. Derek jogs the makeshift bases in mock victory and then grabs the ball. He’s about to throw it to Stiles, when he decides to walk it to him instead. When he reaches him, Stiles holds his hand out expectantly, but Derek doesn’t give him the ball. Instead, he looks down at it and spins it around in his hands. 

“Thank you,” he says suddenly. 

Stiles looks surprised, and Derek kind of wants to keep making Stiles have that face for the rest of his life. He likes giving Stiles pleasant surprises and feelings, and he likes when Stiles gives them to him, too. 

“For what?” he asks. 

“I didn’t think I’d ever be able to tell anyone,” Derek clears his throat, “the things that I tell you. I didn’t think anyone would ever make me love this sport again but –” he shrugs.

“I made you love baseball again?” 

Derek looks at him. “Among other things,” he says.

“Other things…” Stiles says slowly, and Derek can hear how his heartbeat speeds up, pounding even faster. “Things like… like me?” Stiles asks softly. “Because, Derek. You kind of – I – you made me fall in love with you, too,” Stiles says quickly. 

Derek’s lips curl up into a grin. “Yeah? Me too,” he says softly. 

Stiles throws his arms around Derek’s neck, glove and all, and kisses him hard.

Later when Derek cleans out his new gym bag, a note falls out, and Derek’s heart pounds. _You only deserve what you let yourself_ think _you deserve,_ it starts out. _So think about how you deserve me after all these years._ There’s a winking smiley face underneath it, and underneath that is a sloppy heart. 

Derek keeps it. 

He isn’t a baseball star, but he has what he wants.

**Author's Note:**

> If you're interested, my tumblr is [dylanobilinski](http://dylanobilinski.tumblr.com//) and I ~~post~~ reblog a lot of teen wolf things, and I'm starting to get into the habit of posting some of my writing while I work on it, too. I always follow back! :)


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